


Past Tense Perfect

by rowanashke



Series: Domestic Bliss is Totally Overrated [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Group Love, M/M, Multi, anthea's a badass, finally a threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanashke/pseuds/rowanashke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thinks of a great plan, then thinks of something else. Greg settles gingerly into life at 221-B. John is still quietly suffering. And Anthea thinks they just all need to get the hell over it.</p>
<p>Threesome (sort of) with an asexual Sherlock, a patient John and a slightly befuddled Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Tense Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long. I don't know why, but I didn't know how to write this part. I think I rewrote the whole damn thing like four times before I was happy enough to call it good. Still not entirely happy, but it'll do. 
> 
> There's no sex here. Sorry. There will probably be sex next time. Because I want sex, damn it. Really.

Greg gingerly sat up, rubbing his face. John’s old bed was comfortable, but he wasn’t used to it yet, and waking up in the room was still a bit jarring. Especially when you were having bad dreams.

_I got to get a handle on this,_ he thought with a sigh. _I definitely need more sleep than I’ve been managing the last couple of days._

When John had told him about the offer, his first instinct had been to say no. Ok, not no, but _hell no oh my god_. But they hadn’t wanted to let him out of hospital alone, Sally lived in a one-room flat, and there really wasn’t anyone else he knew- _trusted_ -enough to bother.  Greg had a lot of casual friends but not a lot of close ones-a legacy of a life as a cop, always having to be wary and keep your distance lest you find yourself arresting your best mate one day.

Best mates didn’t tend to stay best mates once you’ve had to throw them in a cell. He’d learned that the hard way, and never forgotten the lesson.

But John and Sherlock, hell. They were _different_ , and they were…well, ok. He’d arrested them both, not once but several times (although that one time had been more just to annoy Sherlock, and sitting with John playing cards and watching Sherlock pout had been hilarious, seriously.) And they still liked him enough to invite him to stay at the flat.

_Sherlock_ had invited him. That was going to require some thought.

“Greg!” John called up the stairs. “If you’re hungry, I have breakfast.”

Greg blinked. “Yeah. Be right down.” No one had made him breakfast in a long time-the bitch hadn’t been very domestic unless she was trying to wiggle something out of him. Cash, usually. Standing, he awkwardly pulled on a pair of trousers and half-struggled on a shirt, but the sling on his arm and the straps on his chest interfered and he started swearing, low and steady, trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to…

“Let me help.”

“God damn, Sherlock.” Greg gasped. “Make some noise!”

Sherlock smirked at him, gliding into the room.  “Why? Weak heart?” He snapped the words, and Greg flushed a bit, giving him a nasty look.

“You fucker. You read the files.”

“Of course I read the files.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “Hold still.”

“Those were my private medical records. No one but my doctor’s supposed to read them,” Greg complained.

“John read them.”

“He’s a _doctor_.”

“He’s not _your_ doctor.”

“Beside the point. Sherlock…”

“Done.” Sherlock stepped back, eyeing Greg oddly for a moment. “You look lovely. John is cooking; come along.”

“I look _what_?” Greg asked, utterly flabbergasted. But Sherlock was already downstairs.

-0-0-0-0-

Sherlock was acting very strange today. _Ok, yes, he acts strangely on a regular basis, thank you brain. I know. I mean he’s acting stranger than_ usual _today. Happy?_

Arguing with yourself was a possible sign of madness. Which, oddly enough, perfectly summed up living with Sherlock Holmes, really.

John sipped his tea, watching Sherlock thoughtfully. Not only had Sherlock ate quite a bit of food-completely unusual-he was now sitting quietly, sipping his tea without the least sign of being bored or restless.

A sudden suspicion gripped John. “Sherlock, would you turn your head this way please?” he asked, quite pleasantly.

Frowning, Sherlock eyed him, then deliberately turned toward him, opening his eyes all the way so John could see his pupils. “I am not using, John,” Sherlock said, his tone slightly wounded.

Greg was looking between them with a frown; Sherlock sighed deeply. “I am _not_. I swear.”

“Mm.” John reached out and tilted Sherlock’s chin a bit, then leaned back. “Ok. I believe you.”

Sherlock snorted and Greg relaxed, leaning back and picking up his mug.

There was comfortable silence for a time. John sighed and rose, eventually, to do the dishes. Greg tried to help, but his arm was a nuisance and John eventually shooed him out into the living room, laughing off Greg’s protests.

“You.” John paused in stacking the dishes and gave Sherlock a fierce look. “What’s up with you?”

“I have no idea what you are referring to, John.” Sherlock said, giving him that bland face John hated so much.

“You’re acting very oddly,” John replied, not fooled for an instant.

Sherlock drew his eyebrows together. “Acting oddly? Me?”

“Yes, and stop that.” John filled the basin, still watching Sherlock. “It doesn’t fool anybody when you act all innocent.”

“Greg. Does it fool you when I act innocent?” Sherlock called.

There was a pause; John could _hear_ Greg deciding how to answer that. “No…” came the answer finally. “Not really. Sorry.”

“You don’t _sound_ sorry,” Sherlock pointed out. John glanced at him and saw that Sherlock actually looked amused.

“That’s because I’m not, really,” Greg answered.

Sherlock snorted. Then, suddenly, he rose, grabbing his coat from the rack. “I am going out,” He announced, rather grandly.

“And where are _you_ going?” John asked, frowning. Sherlock usually took him if he had a case.

“Nowhere in particular.” Sherlock answered, tying his scarf around his neck. “I’ll be back later.”

“Where…” John started to ask again, but Sherlock cut him off with a long kiss. Then he popped his head into he living room, gave Lestrade a big, cheesy smile.

“Be back.” Sherlock told him before dashing out of the flat.

John stared at the door, then turned to meet Greg’s baffled gaze.

“That…was weird, right?” Greg asked hesitantly.

“Very.” John replied.

“Ah.” Greg settled back onto the couch, still looking baffled. “I thought it might be, yeah.”

-0-0-0-0-

Sherlock sighed when he saw the limo pulled up out front of the flat, but he slid into it with a grimace.

Folding his hands over his umbrella, Mycroft gave Sherlock a tired look and tilted his head to the side. “I have the files you asked for. I still think you should just tell them.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.” Sherlock snapped. “Give me the files.”

“You really should just say something,” the girl said, barely glancing up from her mobile. “Things go easier when you open your mouth.”

“Yes, thank you, Anthea.” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes.

“No. I’m actually very serious.” Anthea actually looked up from her mobile, fixing her eyes on Sherlock. “Tell them the truth. It will be much easier in the long run. You love this bloke, this John. Love means telling the truth.”

Both of the Holmes brothers blinked, staring at her. She raised her eyebrow, then dropped her eyes back to her mobile, her fingers flying over the keys.

“Well.” Mycroft said at last. “I agree with her, for the record, but then, you never do what you should. Here are the files. Good luck with your plan.”

Sherlock accepted the files, but he was still staring at Anthea. “Who was it that lied to you?” he asked suddenly.

She didn’t look up. “Your brother, once. That I’m still here is a testament to his powers of persuasion, but that was the last time I let him touch me.”

“Anthea.” Mycroft snapped, obviously startled and dismayed.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft, his eyes narrowing a little. “I’ll tell them.” He said finally, then climbed out of the car without another word.

“Really.” Mycroft said, giving Anthea a long-suffering look. “How long do you intend to make me pay for that one little indiscretion?”

“You know as well as I do.” Anthea said, her voice distant. “Three years, seventy-two days, four hours and nineteen minutes.”

Mycroft sighed, then gestured for the driver to move out.

-0-0-0-

Greg had fallen asleep on the couch, watching the telley, and John was quietly pecking at his blog when Sherlock breezed back into the room a few hours later. He unwound his scarf and tossed something into John’s lap, grinning like a fool. Which, with Sherlock, _always_ meant trouble of some kind.

“A case?” John asked, picking up the parcel with some trepidation.

“Of course it’s a case,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be dull. What do you think?”

The parcel was wrapped in heavy brown paper; John unwrapped it slowly, ignoring Sherlock’s increasingly twitchy impatience, then frowned. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” Sherlock said impatiently. “Two tickets, to be exact.”

John frowned harder, reading the tickets. “Pinnacle Suite for the _Norse Legends Cruise_?”

“Yes.” Sherlock swung around the sofa, lightly thumping Greg on the nose. Greg woke with a snort, looking around in confusion.

Confusion which John shared, even if the source was different. “We’re going on a _cruise_?”

“oh?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrow. “You two love-birds taking off then?” He said, grinning slowly.

“No.” Sherlock said, stopping suddenly and turning to face them. “ _You_ two ‘love-birds’” and _oh_ the scathing scorn in those two words, only Sherlock could do it like that _, “_ Are taking off. Together, posing as a couple, taking a cruise around Norway in a deluxe cabin.”

“What are you going to be doing?” John asked slowly, eyeing Sherlock as if he’d gone a bit mental.

“I will be there as well,” Sherlock said, raising his eyebrow. “Posing as an entertainer.”

“What are we then?” Greg asked, looking far too amused still. “Bait?”

“Exactly,” Sherlock said, looking surprised.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John started to say, but stopped. “Wait. Why am I complaining?”

“I was just wondering that, actually.” Greg said, still grinning. “He’ll be doing all the work. You and me, we get to lounge around on the deck, sip champagne out of glasses, and soak up the sun.”

“Until we’re getting _shot_ at”, John pointed out wryly, but even he could tell he wasn’t really complaining.

“So what’s the catch?” Greg asked, stretching a bit. “Not that I mind being bait, but I’d like to know what I’m getting into here.”

“A high-level banker whose name you probably wouldn’t recognize booked this trip to spend time with his gay lover, who he keeps hush-hush. Someone found out about it, however, and the lover received death threats. I have been tasked with finding out who is making the threats and how they intended to follow through with them.”

“You’ve been _tasked_?” John asked, raising his eyebrow. “Wh…oh. Mycroft put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Sherlock made a face. “Yes.” Sniffing, he flopped onto the couch, startling Greg, then rolled his eyes. “I tried to refuse but Mycroft is _blackmailing_ me.”

“Something to do with your mummy?” John asked, grinning at Greg.

“Something like that,” Sherlock said, pouting.

“So…we’re posing as gay lovers?” Greg asked slowly.

“Yes.” Sherlock sniffed, giving Greg a look that clearly said, _don’t be boring._

“Greg and I?” John asked.

“Why is this such a difficult concept for you to grasp?” Sherlock sniped, irritated.

“Well, I mean, it’s just…” Greg frowned. “If we’re lovers, people will expect us to…”

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Y’know…” Greg realized, to his horror, that he was blushing. Him, _blushing_ , like some god-awful teenage girl.

“Kissing. Touching. Sleeping in the same bed.” John said, but he was staring at Sherlock with an odd, thoughtful look on his face. “Lovers stuff.”

“Oh.” Sherlock waved his hand, rolling his eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“And you’re _ok_ with that?” John pressed.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, clearly not sure why John was even bothering to ask.

“Well, considering how you acted at the Deli the other day when that cute girl was hitting on me….” John said, still watching Sherlock with that odd, almost-a-smile look on his face.

Greg sat very still, pretty damn sure this was important and feeling rather lost.

“That was different,” Sherlock said dismissively, waving his hand. “John, really, I understand that you’re not the smartest man in the world, but…”

“Sherlock, _shut up_.” John hadn’t lost that odd almost-smile, but his voice was flat. Sherlock took the hint, amazingly, and shut his mouth with a snap. “ _Why_ was that different, then?”

“Because.” Sherlock replied, glaring at John now.

“Because _why_ , Sherlock.” John pressed, relentless and focused now. “Tell me why it’s different.”

“Because it’s _Greg_ , duh.” Sherlock snapped, then jumped up, striding restlessly to the kitchen.

There was a brief moment of shocked silence from the two left sitting in the living room.

_He called me Greg,_ Lestrade thought suddenly. _He’s never actually called me by my actual first name without being prompted before. Has he?_

John still had that odd look on his face. Feeling a bit more than uncomfortable at this point, Greg shifted on the couch, wondering if he could somehow manage to sneak out of the living room and up the stairs and…well, no, probably not. _Damn._

“Don’t.” Greg blinked and glanced at John, surprised to find those deep, thoughtful brown eyes fixed on him. “I think this is important…” He hesitated, then chuckled, a little mercilessly. It wasn’t hard to believe he’d been a solider, sometimes, and the way John was staring at him right now was making Greg very uncomfortable in a specific, intense kind of way.

Sherlock returned, carrying a cup of tea-of course he hadn’t volunteered to get anyone anything, it probably hadn’t even crossed his damn mind-and Greg watched John transfer that thoughtful, intense look to the madman.

“Sherlock,” John said slowly. “Remember that we’re not all geniuses here, ok? You need to spell things out, even if you think it’s rather obvious.”

Sherlock sighed, giving John an impatient look. “Really, John…”

“No, he’s right,” Greg said suddenly, then cleared his throat, forcing himself to sit back and look as casual as possible. “I’m pretty clueless right now, actually.”

Sherlock glanced at him, then at John, and then back to him, his face blank-the blankness that Greg had come to assume was Sherlock trying to figure out if he’d missed something important, socially-wise. It was really the only time he’d ever seen the man flustered. Finally Sherlock sighed, an explosive sound, and sat his teacup down, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“When Moriarty threatened me, forced me to take desperate measures, he did so by threatening Mrs. Hudson and John.” Both men nodded, having head this before.

Sherlock sighed. “There was one more. They were threatning you, as well, Lestrade.”

Lestrade blinked, his eyebrows going up. “I hadn’t heard that part,” He said cautiously, glancing at John.

“I hadn’t either,” John admitted, narrowing his eyes a little. “Why haven’t you mentioned this little fact, Sherlock?’

Sherlock frowned, closing his eyes. “Because I wasn’t sure _why_ ,” he admitted, his voice calm. “Mrs. Hudson was obvious. John, you were obvious once I allowed myself to admit my feelings.” He paused, then opened his eyes, meeting Greg’s stare. “But you? I did not understand my feelings for you. Before John came along, I’m not sure I could have…” He paused again, then sighed. “What I felt for John wasn’t the same as what I felt for you. You were just a person I spoke with occasionally, a person who let me on cases, and who I used to cure my boredom. You were never close, never important, never _anything_.”

Greg sucked in a breath, surprised at the shock of pain that slithered up his spine. He’d always suspected, of course, but to actually hear…

“But Moriarty, who knew me better than I perhaps even knew myself, chose to threaten _you_. As if you would _matter_ , as if I would have jumped for _you_.”

John frowned, and would have said something, but Sherlock’s glare shut his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And I have come to this understanding. Please be aware of how difficult this is for me…”

He paused, then took a deep breath. “I care for you, Greg Lestrade. Somewhere between what I feel for Mrs. Hudson and what I feel for John. I can’t classify it any clearer than that, as of yet, but I feel it. And most importantly, I trust you. I trust you with my life, and with my secrets, and …”

He paused, then smiled, briefly, his eyes holding Greg’s steadily. “And I trust you with my John.”

Greg blinked. For Sherlock, that was…well, fuck. That was like, _I love you_ and _have my baby_ all wrapped up in one big package, tied with a _fuck my boyfriend_ bow. It was, frankly, staggering.

“Sherlock…” John whispered, smiling. “Oh, Sherlock, you…”

“Yes, yes.” Sherlock said, huffily, but Greg could see the pleased little spark in his eyes. “I know. Excessively maudlin. You’re proud of me, ect. ect. ect. Now would you two _please_ go to the bedroom and work out all the sexual tension that’s been lingering around here before I feel the urge to throw up overcoming my ability to restrain it?”

Greg opened his mouth, but John beat him to the punch. Rising, John seized Sherlock’s face and snogged him proper, deep and hard, then grabbed Greg’s hand. “Come on. You heard him. Time to release some _tensions_.”

“Ah. Yeah. Ok.” Greg stuttered.

Before John could pull him all the way, Greg stopped and grabbed Sherlock’s jaw. Leaning down, he kissed the pale man hard, then gave him a bright grin. “For the record, you utter git, I think might maybe possibly almost love you too. So there.”

Laughing, John pulled him away, leaving Sherlock sitting on the couch, blinking.

-0-0-0-

Later, much later, Greg asked sleepily, “Do you think we still get to go on the cruise?”

“Don’t be daft.” Sherlock, startling them both. Slipping into bed, he wormed his way between John and Greg, then snuggled down. “Of course we’re going. It’s a _case_.”

John snorted, then closed his eyes, curling around Sherlock. “Mmm. Shut up, both of you.”

Greg chuckled, settling in somewhat gingerly. _This is going to take some getting used to. And some thinking. But later, when my brain is actually working. So...much later, I suppose._

_I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than right this second. So there’s that._

“Stop thinking.” Sherlock commanded, reaching up and poking Lestrade’s nose. “It’s annoying. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Sherlock.” Greg said, grinning, and proceeded to do just that.


End file.
